Chapter Text
The comms remained quiet but for the occasional brief update to the target’s location. The target had been on the move since before the sun rose, apparently given a warning of his impending doom. A major breach for the higher-ups to concern themselves over. Not for Crosshair - he was only here to kill his target.
“Two clicks from the port,” a voice sounded in his right ear. To the point as always. No pointless chatter or playful jabs.
Crosshair preferred it. He could focus on his mission.
But it hadn’t always been that way, had it?
His molars grinded together as his fingers tightened their grip on his rifle. He ignored the thought just like the rest, but he couldn’t deny how irritating they were. Primarily because they emerged unexpectedly when he most needed to focus. Or sleep.
“One click from the port.”
Crosshair willed his head to empty and allowed his body to take control, every movement so ingrained into him that he didn’t need to consider where to place his fingers just so or how to angle his legs. All that mattered was the rifle in his hands and the target he needed to aim at.
The speeder arrived at the exact moment each update promised. A group of four guards and the target hurried out of it and toward the ship waiting to take them offworld. The obviously harried target glanced around nervously even with the four bodies surrounding him. It’d take several shots at ground level to kill him, and by then he’d have a better chance at fleeing with the warning.
They had no reason to suspect a sniper in the jagged cliffside no ordinary person would attempt ascending.
But Crosshair had never been ordinary, and that was exactly why the Empire had ordered him here.
Good soldiers follow orders.
Then again, the Republic had wanted essentially the same of him, hadn’t they? In the end, they really weren’t any different. It was all the same. It would always be the same.
So Crosshair lined up his shot and pulled the trigger.
“You’ve been quiet.”
Echo startled out of his thoughts, body straightening to attention at the familiar voice. He relaxed just as quickly, but he knew Rex had caught it anyway. He’d always been perceptive of his men. Even after they were no longer his men, Echo thought drily.
“Something on your mind?” Rex prompted. His gaze kept mostly forward as he manned the ship, but every flickered glance toward Echo shone with concern.
It ached something awful in its familiarity but nauseated Echo at the same time. “Sorry. It’s nothing.”
Rex frowned, clearly disbelieving, but didn’t press. He’d probably sensed Echo’s mood since setting out from Coruscant, or perhaps the months spent apart since the galaxy was turned on its head made breaching such topics difficult. Though it’d been longer, hadn’t it? Even before the declaration of the war’s end and Echo had chosen to join Clone Force 99 over returning to the 501st with Rex, there’d been Skako Minor. Factor all that in, and it’d been years.
Echo had never liked reminiscing over his cadet years for all the embarrassment over Domino Squad’s continued failures in simulations and his own naivete, but he couldn’t deny an ache for how simple it had all been back then. The thought immediately soured as it always did with any thought of Kamino.
How could anyone believe the war had come to an end when it still took so much?
“I’m sure they’ll be fine,” Rex said, dragging Echo from the recesses of his mind once more. “Hunter’s always been good at staying on top of things. He’ll keep the rest of them in line.”
Oh. So Rex thought Echo’s silence was worry toward the rest of the Bad Batch. He wouldn’t deny a bit of truth to that statement, but Rex was wrong. They really didn’t know each other as well anymore.
“I know,” Echo said, and attempted a reassuring smile. It felt more like a grimace. “They’ve been in enough trouble to know how to get out of it.”
Rex nodded, looking somewhat placated, before turning his focus back to the ship’s controls. Echo allowed his smile to fall and turned his own head away.
Hells, he was tired. He always was now. Exhaustion had become as embedded into him as the metal in his skull.
Even choosing to join Rex and finally being given the opportunity to fight against the Empire as he’d wanted to since the beginning gave him little comfort. Not that much did nowadays. The ever strengthening Empire and spontaneity of the Batch’s new life as hired help were more taxing than any firefight Echo had ever been in. At least then the possible outcomes were clear - succeed or die. Evading the Empire or doing another of Cid’s odd jobs left him without any idea of what to expect. Maybe helping Rex would, but Echo knew better.
He never imagined he’d miss memorizing and reciting guidelines and rules.
If only Fives could see him now.
He felt some conciliation that if Fives were here, his twin would be right with him. Fives might’ve adapted to the Batch’s new life better than he had, but Fives never shied away from helping one of his brothers. He’d want to join the fight against the Empire.
But Fives was dead, and Echo’s new brothers had shown no interest in direct action against the Empire. He couldn’t understand it. They might not have been close to any clones outside of their own irregular group, and yes Omega deserved a life not constantly looking over her shoulder, but the Empire didn’t care about any of that. The Batch were still clones, Omega included, and would always need to be cautious for deserting. Nowhere was safe. Why couldn’t they see?
Echo hated it. Too many days he would wake up in an unfamiliar bed and glance at his brothers living contently in a life they’d never been prepared for. They adapted - it was what made Clone Force 99 such a monster against the Separatists - but Echo never would’ve imagined they’d adapt to this. He didn’t understand. Even when he tried. And he had tried .
But it wasn’t enough, and Rex had been right there with that same look he’d had on Bracca, and Echo knew what he needed to do. Even if the rest of the Batch didn’t understand. Even if it meant leaving them.
There’d been minor flashes of coherency in his imprisonment on Skako Minor between all the codes and numbers, but they felt as raw now as they did then. Echo knew what it felt like to be left behind. It surprised him to know it was almost the same feeling when he was the one doing the leaving.
Though maybe it shouldn’t given what had happened on Kamino. Twice.
Echo supposed it was different given the circumstances.
At least now, despite everything else, Echo had the opportunity to do what he should have done since the beginning. He owed it to Rex and Cody and Fives and the millions of his other brothers who’d fought and died for the Republic. He owed it to the innocent people he’d protected and didn’t have the means to fight on their own. He owed it to the Jedi who’d treated him as a living being rather than a cog in a machine. Too many lives had been lost for the Republic to allow the Empire to reign over the galaxy.
No matter what, that single principle would not change.
It wouldn’t be an easy fight, not that many were, but this was different. They lacked the numbers and support, both from the clone army and the Senate. At least a few Senators seemed to have retained their sense and loyalty to the Republic and what it was meant to stand for. Senator Chuchi had tried and promised to keep fighting for the clones, and Senator Organa never shied away from expressing his views toward the Republic’s ideas of freedom. Senator Amidala had been the same, too.
Echo’s heart squeezed at the thought of the woman.
But in the end, the majority of the Senate didn’t share those views. The clones had always been an asset to them, and they were glad to pay for people not their own to fight the bloodiest battles. That was all clones were to them though. A means to an end, and with the war declared over, clones were no longer necessary. Emperor Palpatine effectively decommissioning the clone army and replacing them with stormtroopers would mean nothing to the majority of the Senate
The cynicism depressed Echo in a way little else could. He had always been a realist rather than the idealist Fives had been, but even he looked for the positive in harsh moments. If anyone Echo knew could be described as a cynicist, it would be Crosshair.
Crosshair. Where once the thought of the sniper felt akin to a blast bolt hitting him square in the chest, now Echo only felt numb. He wondered idly if the rest of the Batch felt similarly. He’d never asked - hells, none of them ever talked about Crosshair or glanced at the old weapons case gathering dust in the Marauder - but they’d known the sniper longer. From the beginning of Clone Force 99 from what Echo knew, though his knowledge of the Batch’s past was admittedly restricted to past missions.
He never would learn more about it. It didn’t matter. Echo might never see any of them, and the past was nothing but a distraction nowadays.
Hells he really did sound like Crosshair. Though maybe the sniper had been onto something with the extreme cynicism - you couldn’t be disappointed if you were always expecting the worst outcome. An outcome Echo now lived every damned day.
Echo snorted in morbid amusement, ignoring Rex’s curious glance, and closed his eyes.